


The End

by fiftyshadesofgreywarden



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiftyshadesofgreywarden/pseuds/fiftyshadesofgreywarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots after the events of Dragon Age 2 leading into Inquisition with Marian Hawke. </p><p>All Alternative Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End

**Author's Note:**

> This collection of one shots are my little head-canons of what happens to Marian Hawke after Dragon Age 2 leading up to the events of Inquisition. 
> 
> It's not pretty, it's not easy and it does become rather dark. There is drug use, self-mutilation, even insinuations of sexual abuse and prostitution. As I go along, I will update the archive warnings/characters. 
> 
> For those whose these themes are not their cup of tea, please be warned. For those who soldier on, thank you!

**Leaving Kirkwall**

Everything, everything Marian Hawke had done had been for nothing. It hadn’t mattered how hard she had tried, how much she had sacrificed; now it had all surmounted to nothing. Marian had tried, tried to forge a relationship with the Templars, tried to rebuild the Kirkwall Chantry to its former glory, she had begun trade negotiations with Stark Haven…it hadn’t been enough. The Templars had begun to regard her with suspicion and dislike, questioning her decisions and ideals, questioning and questioning until today. Today, they had pulled her from her office, locking her hands in irons and made her prostrate herself before them before dragging her through the streets.

In the square of Hightown, the Templars with eyes blazing with hate yank the robe of her station from her body and declare martial law of Kirkwall and stripping her of her title. Then they parade her through Kirkwall, labelling her a usurper, a false leader…a murderer.  The Templars vilify her before the people she tried her damn hardest to protect, they humiliate her before those she considered friends  or allies and Marian finally realized that she was truly alone now. No one could or would help her now, it was too late.

The Templar that pushes her along the street is a recruit that Marian had once gotten drunk with and she sees, hears and feels the taint of the Red Lyrium as he knocks her feet from beneath her, jarring her knees as she falls to the ground. Marian tries to pinpoint when the Red Lyrium had twisted the Templars beyond coherent thought and logical reasoning, when it had twisted them like it had twisted and corrupted Bartrand and Meredith, making them see phantom villains and hear treachery where there was none. The parade ends near where the Qunari had once camped: the only victory she had achieved for the people of Kirkwall and Marian listens for the tell-tale sound of a sword sliding from its scabbard. So certain that her death is mere seconds away, that she bows her head and tenses for the deathblow to come, but it doesn’t.

Instead, the citizens of Kirkwall unleash their fury, their grief and their frustrations and it is then that Marian truly accepts her failures.  The weight of her guilt and failures weighs heavier and heavier until it begins to morph into something intangible and unexplainable: a mix of disappointment and anger. Marian holds her tongue as they cry for justice for Elthina, who loved them all and saw good in the filth and corruption that shattered Kirkwall. As they unleash their frustrations, Marian grieves for Elthina with them, the only sign being the tears that slide down her face.  From there, they turn to accusations and Marian wants to scream at them, scream that Kirkwall hurt her too, that the city robbed her of a family and left her orphaned and alone. She wants to scream that she understands the feeling of hopelessness that threatens to overwhelm them. Now Marian begins to anger, this humiliation would not lead to absolution; this wasn’t thanks for the sacrifices she had made. Still, she holds her tongue against the cries of the crowd and tries not to struggle when the Templar recruit grounds her face into the cobbled stone road with a strength that was supernatural. Though death hasn’t granted her a reprieve, she questions death, she questions how the red lyrium had come to corrupt what good had been left in Kirkwall’s Templars.

Drops of rain, cold and bitter against her raw skin bring Marian back to the present. The sky is black with storm clouds and the Templars have left her to the whims of the harsh weather, a pathetic shell of what she once was. Marian knows she cannot return to the Hawke Estate, she would surely be killed then. Achingly, she pulls herself to her feet, wincing as she hobbles through the deserted streets to where Gamlen’s old hovel still stands, somehow immune to the destruction around it. Marian lets herself into the cold shack, heading for the hearth and digging through ash and charcoal and dust until she pulls out an oiled leather sack, where she’s stored some clothes and bag full of gold coin. Pulling on an abandoned coat that she found in the room she had once shared with Bethany, Marian looks around committing the shithole to memory before leaving. There’s one last stop she has to make before she leaves Kirkwall for the last time.

Her last stop is Raleigh Samson’s place – his den, lair – whatever you wanted to call the pathetic shit heap that he called home. 

There had been something off about Samson ever since he had reappeared in Kirkwall, shortly before Meredith’s destructive fall from grace. Marian hadn’t questioned it, they weren’t friends or acquaintances. Samson was the man she went to get a hit of lyrium and get high. He was the one that introduced her to an alternative way of getting high: lyrium dust. What better way than to get high then to snort a line of dust and not have to bear the track marks of a hypodermic needle? The answer was a handful of refined lyrium dust for only thirty-six gold. Samson had also given her advice on how to navigate the rocky slope of uncertainty that had existed between Meredith and Orsino. No, they weren’t friends at all.

Samson didn’t look surprised to see her come in through the crawl space, he simply gestures to a rickety table where Marian’s philter sits open and beckoning her to it.

Mix, grind, heat, inject.

Marian pulls her pants down, pushing the needle deep into her thigh. As the lyrium enters her body in a rush, Marian visibly relaxes into Samson’s moth-eaten chaise, the mineral lighting each nerve on fire. The ordeals endured melt away into the pleasant haze of lyrium as it shrouds her in its humming embrace. Truly relaxed for the moment, she sits back, not caring that her pants are still bunched about her ankles. Head lolling about, she watches idly as Samson snorts a line of dust before looking up, his gaze centering on her exposed lower body. Samson tells her that he has a way for her to reclaim her title, to regain control over the Kirkwall Templars. Marian challenges him, scoffing at his claims and Samson stands moving to ferret through a small heap of rubbish before returning with an object wrapped in velveteen. Marian frowns.

A wiggling thought is trying to bite through the pleasant haze of lyrium, but she cannot make head or tail of it. Curiosity gets better of the niggling thought however and she fumbles at the soft fabric until a chunk of red lyrium falls free and into her lap. At once, its violent and seductive song assaults Marian, yanking her out of her lyrium high. She throws the corrupted mineral away from her with a curse and a shout at Samson and he begins to explain, speaking of the benefits – benefits that she had experienced firsthand.  Strength, additional stamina…the power that the corrupted mineral would give her would enable her to set everything right, or so the ex-Templar claimed. Samson presses the red lyrium back into her hands, makes her look at it as he describes the high and listen to its singing potential. Marian is lost to his words and to the lyrium’s song, almost convinced of the immense power that it wields.

But then Samson utters one word – one name that changes everything: Corypheus.     

Marian’s first instinct is to fling the chunk of mineral away from her as she stands, almost falling flat when she catches herself on her pants. Yanking them up and around her waist, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: she killed Corypheus. Marian still relished the memory of pulverising the ancient Magister’s deformed skull and then had Anders burn the pieces of good measure. There was no way that anyone could have survived such violence. Furthermore, Marian had ensured that no ancient horror like Corypheus could ever be unleased again; she had continued her father’s legacy and seen to it.

Samson is still speaking, his voice growing more frantic and building with fervour as he speaks of a new world order with Corypheus as its leader. Follow the magister and be promised power, Samson tells her. Samson needs Marian he says, Corypheus has awarded the prestigious position of General of the Red Templar Order and with her by his side, they would rule over the Templars and lead them to conquer Thedas for Corypheus. Horror seeps through Marian and she begins to slowly inch backwards. She had thought Samson’s…crypt was the last safe place for her in Kirkwall. Not anymore.  Samson jumps for her, moving faster than she had ever seen him move, that same franticness that he had spoken with was in his eyes.

That same frantic gaze that haunted her dreams every night. It was the Red Lyrium.

Samson knocks her to the grimy floor, hands pawing for her neck. Marian batters his hands away and she wrestles to gain control, all the while searching for something, anything to defend herself with. Her efforts are futile and despite her strength Samson gets the better of her. He pins her in place and Marian’s hands grope around her, stretching as he begins to utter about the Red Lyrium…again. Then he picks up the bag that he had made the line for himself and still pinning her to the floor, begins to mix the Red Lyrium into the solution that she was sure that he would forcibly inject her with.

She lets out a desperate scream as she bucks her hips upward, trying to dislodge Samson from where he’s drawing the dangerous mineral into a needle. Struggling like a trapped animal, her questing fingertips graze something and she latches on with that same desperation until she brings it swinging upwards as he’s leaning down over her. Her blow forces Samson off of her and she scrambles backwards, breathing hard and realizes that it was her philter that she’d grabbed. Without a second thought, she’s up and on her feet, dashing around the small cave as Samson writhes in pain on the ground.

The sun is just beginning to rise when she emerges into the fresh air of Sundermount. Marian has taken an old smuggler’s route  from Darktown. It’d cost her half of her bag of gold to pay off the carta to keep their mouths shut, but it would be worth it. She didn’t want the Templars or Samson knowing where she’d gotten too.

She could search for answers now, find a way – find someone who would help her thwart Samson – not knowing where to start, Marian turned for Ostwick neither hoping to be dead nor alive when she arrived. 


End file.
